Fanchon's Book

Chapter 16

Body and soul, that was how I belonged to her-and later in the evening I screwed up sufficient courage to go and say it. And to take my bitter medicine, whatever she cared to dole out, whatever would put us in harmony again; oh yes, I was-quite prepared to suffer for my sin.

Her attitude surprised me, though; she seemed slightly cool but far from incensed. Mildly amused, rather, and there was even a faint smile on her face as I admitted my guilt and declared my undying love and blurted out the whole bewildering mishmash about Oliver leaving so suddenly and Rosalba showing up at the front door and pitching in to help with the packing and then taking advantage of my distracted state of mind by insisting on serving me further and cadging an invitation to stay the night; not that the turmoil and confusion justified my shameful conduct, no, I could only unburden my conscience and hope for clemency.

I must have sounded pretty penitent. Remorseful and apologetic enough to avert a vendetta, at least; anyway, the anticipated recriminations just didn't materialize…

"So now you expect to be punished, eh, Fanchon?"

"Well… I-I guess I deserve it."

"No doubt. I ought to beat your bottom with a leather strap. But what good would it do?" Her lips twisted in a little, grin of mockery. "Besides, you'd probably love it."

"Then you're not angry? Oh, darling… "

"Here now, none of that." She brushed away my impetuous gesture, allotting me only her hand to kiss. Then, almost musingly, "Still, it wouldn't be right to let you off scot-free. Maybe I'll banish you, huh?"

"B-banish me?"

"Hmm, yes, it's an interesting idea. Let's give it a try, just a short one. Consider yourself banished, Fanchon. You can't make love to me tonight. I don't want to see you till tomorrow. That's a fair punishment, isn't it?"

"Darling… please don't-"

"You'd better not complain or I'll make it longer."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Cheer up, its only one night. And you can have Rosalba to keep you company."

"No! Never again. I don't want Rosalba."

"Is that so? I'm glad to hear it. Then you won't mind if I take her myself. To keep me company."

"You-you and Rosalba?"

"Sure. What's wrong with that? You had her this afternoon, didn't you? So why shouldn't I have her tonight? And since she's an invited guest, well, you might be gracious about it and offer us your bedroom. You'll do that, won't you, Fanchon?"

So jaunty, such smiling nonchalance; didn't she realize what she was doing to me? But of course she did. It was her way of making me suffer: depriving me of her companionship, inflicting a sentence more stiff than I had bargained for, letting someone else take my place in her affections-and in my own bed. Her way of getting even-and with a vengeance. Oh, it was just her way-and I should have known my dereliction would cost me dearly.

It cost me, all right. I had a rough night. For a while I sat in Oliver's room and tried to work on my novel. But the thing seemed like such pretentious trash, and I got to brooding over it and seriously contemplated junking the entire project. Nor did I find much divertissement in my absent husband's collection of pornographic books, less pretentious, perhaps, but certainly just as trashy-and how could a printed page of erotica be anywhere near as exciting as the eroticism of my everyday existence?

Falling asleep was also a losing skirmish. I tossed about in restless irritation, uncomfortable in the purgatory of Oliver's bed and agonizing over what was going on in my own. Kristi and Rosalba. What are they doing in there? A dozen different visions tortured me, and I struggled valiantly to guide my thoughts into less troublesome channels. But sleep played truant. Until at last I got up and padded into Kristi's small room-and there, lulled by the lingering scent of my beloved, comforted by her near-intimacy, I managed to quell my melancholia and drift off into dream-void torpor.

Hours later the touch of her hand coaxed my eyelids open, it glided across my face to the soft awakening of my lips. I kissed it and left slumber behind. She was sitting on the edge of my bed-no, her bed-draped in a negligee (mine? hers?) that scarcely screened the dazzling splendor of her body.

"Good morning, my poor punished Fanchon. So this is where you slept last night,. hmm? I looked in your husband's room first."

I murmured a muted good-morning-darling into the palm of her hand. Her fingertips turned tenderly sportive and I prolonged the kiss gratefully, aware that my term of excommunication was over. The only blessing of a lovers' tiff is the bliss of making up afterward; and wasn't she an angel to seek me out like this. and make the initial overture?

"Hey, that library in there is really something. Now that he's away, maybe I'll get a chance to read the dirty books." She stroked my cheek and ended the caress in an airy gesture of self-reproach. "Oh, I'm such a lazy girl. If I spend my time reading, who'll do the housework?"

"Read all you like. But the collection is pretty dull, I'm afraid. I found that out last night. Somewhere around two o'clock-if you know what I mean."

"Oh? You didn't sleep?"

"I couldn't sleep. Let's just say I had a bad night. And you know why, you little devil."

"Uh-huh. I ought to know. Sexy, sexy. Me too-how about that? I missed you. I wanted you the minute I woke up. That's why I left Rosalba and came hunting for-" Her train of thought snapped; she paused reflectively and then giggled. "Ooh, Fanchon, I just had an idea! Rosalba. Let's keep her here for a while. She can do the housework. And I can be lazy."

"Keep her? As a hired maid?"

"No, silly, you wouldn't have to pay her. She's such a simpleton; I can talk her into anything. I'll bet she'd be willing to work for free just to have a place to stay until that dumb-ox husband of hers comes to his senses."

"Hmm, well, I'll think it over. Later, though. Now what was it you said about waking up and feeling sexy?"

"Rosalba could have my room. I'll be in there with you anyway, won't I? And we'd have more time for each other if-"

"Darling, is it that important? Let her stay then, it doesn't really matter. Except that she-"

"Oh, you're so good to me, Fanchon. I guess I'm selfish, huh? You give me everything-and what do I ever give you in return?"

"Little one, you give me somebody to love. And that's all I've ever asked for. Just you… " I reached for the pale hand and squeezed it impulsively. "We'll keep Rosalba around, if you like. But I wouldn't want her to know too much about us. About what we do together, the crazy games and things; you do understand, don't you?"

"Umm, yes, you're right, it's best she doesn't know. Don't worry, I'll take care of that. Rosalba won't even suspect our secret. Hey, it's going to be fun just loafing all day long. And I'll get some hot reading done, too."

"Hot reading, eh? You'll probably be disappointed." I carried the delicate fingers to my lips again. "Books aren't as exciting as the real thing."

A conspiratorial twinkle lit her face. "Your book might be… " And with a little lilting chuckle of delight, she shook out of the negligee and tumbled into my arms. "My impatient Fanchon. You want some material for another Chapter?"

But no, it wasn't a time for new material, at least not that kind of material, the material of prurient perversities, of lust and lubricity, the material designed (hopefully!!!) to sell books. It was a time for love. A time for the subdued sweetness of making up after a quatreI; ah, how utterly unselfish were the embraces of my golden-haired divine goddess! How endearingly considerate the caresses she deigned to bestow upon her mortal idolatress! It was as if she had replaced the hair-shirt of my punishment with the silken-soft mantle of her all-absolving affection.

She made no demands. And yet-quite soon-I felt the urge to fulfill them, the unspoken demands; need they be said aloud to be acknowledged as the esoteric elixir that gave our alliance its very essence? Ours was no ordinary relationship. Just as Kristi was no ordinary servant. Nor I an ordinary housewife. Generous and forgiving as my loved one might me, she was still my glorious goddess-and I found myself kissing her feet. She liked that, even though she remained quiet. When I turned her over and started nibbling up into the sweet curve of her buttocks, she still didn't say a word. But I knew what she must have been thinking and it was true, so true, Fanchon, you're a sensual bitch! and I probed the darkly lewd gully and fixed upon the little puckered place and pried it open with the tip of my tongue and became the sensual bitch she wanted me to be; nor did she have to ask me or tell me or nudge me, no, I was already slavishly possessed with the desire to please-and I poked my tongue in and pulled it back into my mouth and got it wet and then did it again, over and over again, the in-and-out lubricating motion from my moist mouth to her moistening flesh, until everything became slick-smooth and slippery and at last I stuck my tongue deep into the body of my beloved and joined myself to her as if the seal of mouth and flesh made us one.

I could have stayed there forever, cherishing the moment, aware that it was all the more precious because of my night of exile. But there was yet another unspoken demand to fulfill. And only when I lowered my head and ducked under her belly and twisted around to nuzzle up into the succulent softness of her vulva did she finally break her silence. A moan. Then a whisper. Hot, soulful, inflammatory; such an inspiring whisper! It set me on fire with ecstatic devotion.

"Ah yes, Fanchon, you give me everything. Suck, suck… "

It was a long time before we left the bed. But I didn't consider it a wasted morning, no, in its evanescent hours lay the key to life itself: das Leben ist die Liebe. And there were others like it in the days that followed. Lovely mornings. Lovely afternoons. Lovely nights for the loveliest of lovers.

For a while I paid only cursory attention to Rosalba. She slept in the maid's room and took her orders from Kristi, and both seemed contented with the adjustment. There was some sex-play between them but not enough to be obtrusive; anyway, a fit of jealousy would have done me little good and I decided against making an issue out of it. Especially since my enchanting angel-child was being so thrillingly sweet to me.

Then my husband's office called and I had to pack a second suitcase for him; they didn't say for sure but I got the impression that he would be gone much longer than anticipated. Which was fine with all concerned-except that the additional time allowed Rosalba to become more firmly entrenched in the household. Too much so, I realized, and I wondered how to go about getting rid of her without creating a fuss.

Not that Kristi was neglecting me. But the novelty of the situation had worn off and I begrudged every minute she spent out of my sight. Nor did it help my already tottering aplomb when I returned home from a social engagement one day to find the pair of them locked in my bathroom. A "mistress and maid" theme, no doubt, and although I didn't knock on the door and interrupt their fun, it jarred me to recognize that in a certain singular sense I was being displaced by an interloper. Kristi seldom bothered to make up play-acting scenes for us any more, nor had I any need of them, really, but it hurt to learn that her deviously naughty brain was still inventing-and for someone else's benefit. After that, Rosalba's presence in the house became a thorn in my pride.

Eventually I scraped up sufficient nerve to do something about it. Kristi was in Oliver's room, reading; I went in to talk to her. But before I could open my mouth she pounced on me with an impetuous hug and kiss. Then, bright-eyed, giggling, obviously enthused, she dangled a typed document in front of my nose.

"Look what I just came across, Fanchon. In with the books."

It was a copy of Oliver's will. I got huffy and told her to put it back where she found it; after all, my husband's private affairs were no concern of hers. But she had already read it, of course, and my admonition came too late. That being the case, well, I too was curious enough to scan the paper-and then we both knew of the existence of a foreign bank deposit. Of which, some day, I would be the sole inheritor.

But it wasn't a seemly subject for discussion-and besides, I had to get that other more pertinent business off my chest. The will was restored to its hiding place without further comment, and then-spuriously casual-I voiced a small suggestion about Rosalba overstaying her welcome and wasn't it time we sent her away?

I met with stubborn opposition, though. Kristi was intractable. She liked having Rosalba around to do her bidding; worse yet, she insisted that I keep the girl on indefinitely-and since my budget wasn't affected, even Oliver's return would have little bearing on the arrangement.

"It's perfectly safe, Fanchon. Who would object to an extra housemaid? Rosalba can share my room; we'll set up the folding cot for her. And as long as it doesn't cost you any money… "

"But she's becoming a fixture here. If she settles down like that, how will we ever get rid of her?"

"Oh, that's easy. You know what a silly goose Rosalba is. I'll just talk her back into patching things up with her husband. And out she'll go. Whenever we're tired of her."

"I'm tired of her right now, darling. And I really don't see why you're so keen on her staying. She does most of the housework for you, I'll admit, but is that the only reason? You're not in love with her, are you?"

"In love with Rosalba? Don't be ridiculous. Fanchon, how could you even think it? You're the one I care for! That's why I want to keep Rosalba around, actually-because of my love for you. I can't be nasty to you the way I can to her. And sometimes I just get that nasty urge; it's a kind of compulsion, you might say."

"A compulsion to be nasty? What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. That night in the cellar-remember what I did to you? That was nasty. And you didn't like it. So it won't happen again-not to you, anyway. But just the same, I still get the urge now and then."

"You-you do that to Rosalba?"

"Uh-huh. Only I don't have to force her. She loves it. She opens her mouth and swallows what I give her-and worships me all the more for it. But you should have figured it out for yourself by this time, Fanchon. Haven't you heard us making all that noise in the hall bathroom?"

"N-no. I-I just didn't realize… "

"Well, you realize it now. And I'm glad, frankly, I'm glad it's out in the open. I hate that little two-by-four toilet, it's so shabby and uncomfortable. Now maybe I can use yours, huh? You won't mind if I take Rosalba into your bathroom once in a while, will you?"

What could I say? I looked at the glittering green eyes, the determined face, the chin tilted at such an obstinate angle-and all I could do was bite my tongue and let it pass and hope the whole mess would soon blow over. Certainly I couldn't see myself offering to take Rosalba's place. Ugh!

After all, well, somehow everything got pretty chaotic-and just a bit weird, too. Kristi still slept with me, but now she contrived to spend more time with Rosalba, gravitating between us and yet avoiding any overlapping of the two pursuits. As if each was a separate sphere of activity. Except that she led Rosalba into my bathroom every so often, and I had to turn my head and act as though I didn't notice. But I did notice, oh yes, and I listened to the strange sounds and shuddered and knew that it wasn't any innocent "mistress and maid" charade going on in there behind the closed door.

I stood it as stoically as I Could. But I soon recognized the ugly fact that I was involved in an invidious competition. Kristi loved me, but that didn't constrain her from conferring a portion of herself upon my rival. And measured in minutes, the portion seemed to be increasing with exasperatingly conspicuous regularity. Until at last my heart shriveled and I went to my beloved and got down on my knees and pleaded with her to send the girl away.

"Poor unhappy Fanchon. So you're jealous, hmm? But if Rosalba goes, who'll be my toilet slave?"

"Is it-is it so necessary to you? That sort of thing?"

"No, not exactly. But there's something exciting about it. I guess I've just got a dirty mind, huh? Anyway, I don't want to give it up-and I'd be angry if you forced me to."

"What if I let you… uh… you know… "

"Do it to you?" She snorted in wry reproof. "Fanchon, you can't even say it; even the words are disgusting to you. You'd only get sick to your stomach again-and that's no fun for me. I need someone who feels a sexy thrill when it happens."

"Sexy… no… I could never feel-"

"Rosalba does. It makes her so hot she begs for more. Shall I prove it to you? She's always ready for me, always thirsty; I'll call her in and drop a little hint, that's all it takes. I'll have her begging for it right here m front of you."

"Please, no, don't call her! I believe you." A mist of despair blurred my eyes. "Darling, what can I do? How can I convince you? If that girl stays another day I'll just die, I know I will."

"Come now, Fanchon, I'm sure you'll live. Don't be so morbid. Let's have no talk of dying." Then, in an oddly pensive murmur, "Unless it's about-" She shrugged abruptly. "Oh, forget it. So you want me to get rid of Rosalba, huh? I can't see any reason why I should. Still… "

"Darling?" I clasped her legs to my breasts. "For me?"

"And what will you do for me?"

"Anything. Everything. I swear it. Anything you ask." My voice cracked to the consistency of a leaky sob. "Just so you and I can be together."

"Hey, you're crying! Crocodile tears, maybe?" She smiled down at me. "But no, of course not, you're truly suffering, you poor darling. My sweet Fanchon… would you really do anything? Would you do something dangerous if I asked you to? Something bad? Because there is something-something so awful I can hardly say it-only it's not just for me, it's for both of us. Listen to me, dear, and try to understand; I know it's terrible but I can't stop thinking about it. It's been tormenting me ever since the day I was leafing through the books and stumbled across that paper "

I clung to her in desperation. I must have known what she was going to say, I should have expected it. But I heard her and felt the chill of dread and broke out in a cold sweat; and then I thought of all that money and how it would enable me to wrap her in luxury and keep her happy and hold on to her forever-and I nodded my head into the soft embrace of her thighs, brushing my damp cheeks dry upon the overheated skin, sensing only vaguely that I was making myself a party to murder. The murder of my own husband.